There are rules to minds
that we may not be aware we set
Yet we also choose for processes to exist
that we forget, interrupting these values of gratitude
through stages in which we reflect
through forms of reasoning;
for the ears and tongues of my laymen:
emotions guide you to what you want;
depression, anxiety, reoccurring traumas
bear sensibility when any of those feelings
lead you to help.
Nothing will make sense
without taking whichever steps are needed
to leave this hell.
It makes sense, making choices
based off of feelings that have always taken you
to where you believe you should be taken.
This does not create an inherent price
for your judgment to come back
with fairness as a cost.
It's only a metaphorical transaction.
As much as the feeling of horror
may overcome a person,
the same strength of that feeling
can be mimicked by any of our emotions.
Why could it not?
If something can traumatize,
something can heal;
It doesn’t always rain,
I've seen beautiful weather at funerals.
I am a coconut tree swaying in the breeze,
here in the warm sand I will never freeze.
My big coconuts you cannot squeeze,
but you can add my juice to your teas.
I am loved by the big yellow bees,
bees also love to use water skis.
On this island of coconut trees,
I watch the visitors eating fruits with cheese.
The young men love to climb me to look at the seas,
saying no rain please.
"seen" is through notation
more apparent to our senses
more palpable through
physical sensations.
cog rattle the percussions instrument
a modern take on sound
what inspires might to
create
the invention of
make music visible
visually represent music
attempt to visualize sound waves
in the village of Blatten, was the Birch Glacier
the debris of the crumbled Birch caused the
Lornez to flood
a prolonged period of an elevated mood
they seemed unmoved even through the differences
seasonal effective disorder
I heard one say it was more a
amusia, musical anhedonia
They refused to allow them
to narrate there condition
nds of music shall please hte senses
where happiness can allow the moods
can mend the minds where folk
"can again construct on Gods land"
spoke a fella near the situation
structure and stabilty
the notes shall make sounds
visible sounds
"what a sight to see"
Globi and Hanswurst in Swisserland
Inverse Kinematics
swaying to the sounds of music
the right men in charge
the right banner the right flag~
the right dead babies
***
Swaying Sensibilities
In the sultry summer nights, wistful waves weave a seductive spell, wet and wild, while whispering winds waltz with wistful wonders, writing tales of tantalizing temptations, tip-toeing towards a torrent of tormented desires.
Scintillating sensations serenade the soul’s sensuous sanctuary, stirring subtle symphonies of sultry seduction, swaying sexy sensibilities.
Climactic contractions culminate and course through our corporal connection,
Pent-up passions pour into your pulsating pelvis,
Powerful primal prowess, pervasive pain, provokes penetrating pleasures,
Our hearts pounding, peak pulse pressures, panting and perspiring; covered in coveted carnal contentment.
-Edward
cherry blossoms sway
waving in unison as
we stop to admire
I’m resting, but also creating.
Stories, stories that flip around.
As if I’m flipping to my back.
But in my hammock.
I am only able to sway and sway…
The ideas sway with me.
Dreamy, yet startling ideas.
My eyes are still closed.
I’m still resting and creating.
I knew I’ll never fall.
In my hammock, nothing ever happens.
if you're late meeting
friends don't buy a newer watch
just get newer friends
Swaying, caressing sihouettes,
In the rose evenings,
Meditating, lighting candles,
As you sweetly gaze,
Swaying, liberating hems,
Like salsa dreams,
Your essence is exotic, stunning as rain,
Upon a flowers dazed petals,
Honey of mists,
Golden leaves,
in autumnal symphonies,
The green dresses,
Have turned a golden honey,
Let us shed our grievings,
The fishnets,
of hips and waves,
From our souls,
Like those majestic trees,
Waves,
waxing with crescents,
To gems and shore,
Ballerina dove, the moon,
Is dreaming your rhythms,
Swaying,
Meditatiing,
lighting candles,
In the warmth,
Of iris midnight dawns,
And the vineyards,
have ethereally,
Blossomed,
Within,
The enchanted,
gaze of your soul
Reynaldo Casison
tight path reach an end
half the bay gets lost in haze
will sun ever shine?
dandelion wrecked
drifts at the kitchen window
pleasant southern wind
withered apple core
sits in a vacant park place
shifting brown to black
Written: May 15, 2023
Have you ever felt from a song
A song that reminded you how you can live
The rush of the wind, the desire to climb
A quickly-building monument to the beauty of creation
How quickly a mood changes with a play
The sorrow of loss, a lament to the sky
for what was not lost to you
what you may never be lucky enough to lose
A mournful numbness, a malady of words, a sea to be swallowed by
An arrogant strut behind what they have done and claim to do
A hyperactive child in a candy store
An invitation to someone else's moment, a happy party
A strut in saying something how it is, sauntering up to your boss's reddened face
A spontaneous guffaw from a line so out of place
A dance in a language you cannot understand
Siphoned emotions from founts
Some people urging you to drink from
Some urging you to bathe and not drink, to not feel
Some that were left and coyly watched
Some that were abandoned
Some that were trapped in amber
How could where we live, where we choose to drink, not say a lot about us?
Such a pure crystallization of what is so slippery to say
Within a lush verdant meadow
there meanders a docile stream
where wildflowers profusely bloom
beneath the warm breath of the sun.
They sway on whispers of a gypsy wind
as it gently drifts across this Elysian field.
March 5, 2022
Bite Size Poem No.38 Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
In April everything was green,
a patch of blue couldn't be seen,
the orange sun was kept away with dire;
I lied down a scented blanket of emerald...
while the yellow robins circled above
showing their aerial skills that impressed,
but the brown-winged hummingbirds perched
on plum trees created a piece of music so unique
that even a composer couldn't imagine...
how inspirational was their song to God!
Swaying auburn trees on a November magical day
show their lustrous colors to daze minds,
their branches undulated by the auspicious wind
remind me of that red-headed girl I kissed;
did her image vanish before I could express my dismay?
I assumed that manifesting passion would bind hearts!
This is one of my favorite places I often frequent
when loneliness grips me by a feeling of helplessness;
I've built an imagery temple to her frivolousness,
to someone too sensual and stripped of amorous intent...
kissing her under swaying auburn trees that enchant
and spread their delusional essence of stifling dissent!
Old? Oh, Goodness!
The old lady is jiggling the bed!
With her earphones on, bobbing her head,
Tipping her shoulders to front and back,
To up and down — her chest the same.
If the partial-paralysis hadn’t set in so
Eight months ago, she’d be in a quick go
Up jigging across the room to reel with
That Irish, God-praising banjo she listens to.
Old lady, her moves shaking the sheets off!
Quite a sight to see! And, too,
With the angels around her bed clapping in time
And tapping along to the beat of joy’s music.
Her physical therapist had said to keep moving,
“There’s no such word as ‘can’t’ and you
Aren’t old ’til you hit three digits,” which means,
The old lady tallies: she has three decades
Of swaying, twisting, bowing and turning to go!
———————————————————————-
(c) sally Young eslinger 1/18/221
Thanks be to God
Orchestrated whimsy
~ of crystal delights
Ziket: a 2-line poem comprised of 5-8 syllables in 1st line, 5 syllables in 2nd line
AP: 2nd place 2020
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